


Asking For It [accidental kink fic]

by EdgarAllenPoet



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: ALL THE KINKS, Anxiety, Arguing, BDSM, Bondage, Brencer, Brendon's kink list, Failboats In Love, France - Freeform, Held Down, Kneeling, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Pain, Pinching, Platonic BDSM, Post-Split, Pre-Split, Ryden, Ryden- blink and you'll miss it, Safewords, Scratching, Self-Esteem Issues, Spanking, Wrestling, absolutely nobody asked for this, and here we are now, angry Peterick, being ashamed of kink, bonding with Pete, dog piles, following orders, golden girls - Freeform, handjob and blowjob mention, i started writing it at two a.m. yesterday, i'm going to fail college because i'm too busy writing fanfics, punch buggie, send help, sin - Freeform, stun gun, the internet is a scary place, they all kind of fail at negotiating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:58:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because while Ryan’s love life could be written out like the chapters in a dirty novel, Brendon Urie’s sexual discovery read more like a series of surprise interventions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The entire thing is run-on sentences. The entire thing. And I'm not sorry at all. 
> 
> The summary for this has a phrase stolen from a fic series "Belonging" by Notasmuch. You should go read it, cause it's awesome. There's an asexual main character and polyamory and awesome kinky stuff. 
> 
> If you know me in real life and are reading this, I am so sorry. If you're one of the people featured in this story, I am even more sorry.

Brendon could clearly remember a time when they were all still in high school.  They’d set up camp in Brent’s parents’ basement, because he was the only one of them who actually had a basement perfect for hanging out without getting interrupted by annoying little sisters, or overprotective parents, or Mr. Ross, who they’d all been a bit more scared of than they liked to admit.  It was about three a.m.  Spencer was dead to the world, sprawled out on the over-used futon, and a prideful smirk spread its way across Ryan’s face as they told their best sex stories.  Brendon, at that point, hadn’t had many.  He just sat back and listened in awe as Ryan laid out his sexcapades like a list of accomplishments on a resume.  It all seemed so… easy.  So casual.  So  _ vanilla _ , and Brendon remembered being jealous of that.

 

Maybe not the quantity of sex, because he felt he was more of a quality over quantity kind of dude.  He was mostly jealous that Ryan seemed to know exactly what he wanted and how to go about getting it.

 

Because while Ryan’s love life could be written out like the chapters in a dirty novel, Brendon Urie’s sexual discovery read more like a series of surprise interventions.

 

**...**

**2013**

**…**

 

They were standing in the front of the bus, both glaring and red faced.  Brendon’s fists were curled at his sides because he was scared, and when he was scared he got angry.  Spencer was pissed too.  It had been that kind of day (or month, honestly).  They were both on edge, but where Spencer got quiet and tense, Brendon got loud and restless.  He was all sharp edges and thrumming anxiety pulled tight like a high E string, and he was looking for a fight.  

 

Dallon, apparently, had unlimited patience that came from living with small children.  Brendon had tried egging him into something, but all that had gotten him was a “You need to cool it, dude,” before he disappeared into his bunk to text Breezy.  

 

Ian wasn’t having it either, and Brendon wasn’t pushing.  It wasn’t that he couldn’t push Ian into a wrestling match or a push up competition or  _ something _ .  It was just that Ian was still too new and too fragile, and Brendon didn’t know how to act around him.  How he was  _ allowed _ to act around him.  A childhood of struggling to make friends had followed him into adulthood, and he still wasn’t confident in his abilities there.  Also, he figured that if he pissed Ian off enough for him to leave the band, Spencer would actually, honest to God kill him. 

 

Zack would have been a good pick for messing with if he wasn’t up front hanging out with the driver.  His last option was the tech they had hanging out with them this tour, but he didn’t get paid enough to put up with Brendon’s bullshit, so that left him with Spencer. 

 

Spencer who didn’t have any patience left as he slammed his open palm down on the table he was standing next to and shouted, “God, you make me want to smack you sometimes!” 

 

In that moment, Brendon was actually glad it took him so long to figure everything out, because while he’d started out confused and scared, it no longer felt so much like he was harboring a dirty, awful secret.  He looked Spencer in the eyes- Spencer, his best friend, his boyfriend, and his band member- and said, “Maybe you should.”

 

“What?” Spencer asked.  Brendon watched his anger fade to frustration, and his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to work through what Brendon just said.  A closer look showed how tired he was.  There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was breaking out.  They hadn’t been able to shower in days, and Spencer had that ‘coming apart at the seams’ look that he got sometimes.  The one that made Brendon feel like shit, because what kind of boyfriend was he if he was picking fights with Spencer when he already looked like that. 

 

God, if he ever deserved to be taken down a peg, it was definitely now. 

 

“Maybe you should smack me then,” Brendon said, and geez, they should have found a better way to talk about this.  A calmer way that wasn’t in the middle of their tour bus in the middle of a fight in the middle of Texas.  Brendon wasn’t good at adult conversations though, and he was even worse at relationships, so.  “I’ve been asking for it.”

 

And that’s exactly what he was trying to do, what he’d been doing for a while.  Asking for it.

 

**…**

**2005**

**…**

 

Brendon didn’t try to understand it.  He didn’t question it.  He just knew that sometimes he got into these  _ moods, _ and that was fine.  He had friends that he could egg into indulging him if he wanted, and it wasn’t like anyone was getting hurt.  

 

Besides, boys wrestle.  That’s what they do.  

 

It just so happened that Brendon was exceptionally bad at wrestling.  You’d think he would be pretty good at it, growing up with three older brothers.  He had to suck though, because Ryan Ross-- who weighed approximately nothing and had the strength of a twelve year old girl-- had him pinned down hard with one arm twisted uncomfortably against his back and the other pressed tight between his chest and the carpet.  

 

“Shit head,” Ryan spat, giving him a final shove for good measure before taking his weight off of Brendon and climbing to his feet.  He went across the room and picked up his stupid book.  He’d been in the middle of reading it when Brendon had grabbed it out of his hands and ran, because he’d been poking Ryan with his foot for nearly ten minutes and the older boy hadn’t responded at all.  

 

Brendon was in one of those  _ moods, _ and he knew from prior experience that if he could get his hands on either Ryan’s book, notebook, or phone, that Ryan would be ruthless in getting it back.  That included tackling Brendon to the ground and grinding his face into the dingy bus carpet, which was sometimes just what Brendon needed.  He didn’t think about it too much. 

 

“Man,” Brent said.  Brendon still hadn’t peeled himself up off the ground.  His hip hurt, and there was a rug burn on his elbow.  He was sore in all the right places and wanted to marinate in his defeat just a little bit longer. “Sometimes I think you let Ross win.” And huh.  That… that was not something Brendon wanted to think about.

 

Whatever.  Brendon picked himself up and fell onto the couch next to Brent, smacked his knee with the back of his hand.  “I let your mom win last night,” he said.  

 

“Kinky,” Brent said, and… huh.  But those were thoughts for a different day.  

 

Brendon rolled his eyes and said, “Switch to multiplayer. I want in,” and then shoved at Brent’s shoulder until he complied.

 

**…**

**2006**

**…**

 

The thing was, when Brendon wasn’t in the kind of mood that had him goading his band members into wrestling matches or convincing Spencer to play pranks on Zack, just ‘to see what’ll happen,’ he actually really hated conflict.  It was strange, but unless he was in that certain kind of mindset, he did his best not to push buttons.

 

Now, Brendon wasn’t an idiot.  He knew that he was loud and clumsy and a little overbearing sometimes, but he wasn’t so much of a button pusher as he was ‘someone who accidentally bumps into buttons.’  He didn’t want to irritate people.  It just kind of happened.

 

Growing up in a large household meant that sometimes he got overlooked.  It was convenient for a lot of the shit he got up to in high school.  Old habits die hard though, so while Brendon knew Zack had told them not to leave the bus that close to showtime, Brendon kind of forgot that applied to him.  Just like at home, everyone was busy doing their own thing, and nobody was paying attention, and just like at home, Brendon didn’t even think about it before slipping out the bus door, totally unnoticed.  

 

He plugged his earbuds in and enjoyed the fresh air and peace he got from walking alone.  When he got to the sidewalk, he could see a Starbucks sign poking out around the others a few blocks away.  He grinned and headed off in that direction, not thinking twice when he sent out the group text message: “strbucks ordrs?” 

 

It was that text that saved his ass, honestly.  There was a reason they’d been banned to the bus.  Zack didn’t just go around giving orders for no reason; he was a pretty chill dude.  The coffee place was as crowded as could be expected.  Brendon kept his music up loud and got into line.  By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late, and he was absolutely surrounded by people chattering excitedly because it was  _ Brendon fucking Urie _ of  _ Panic! at the Disco! _

 

As heartening as it was to know they were popular enough to get mugged in a Starbucks (ignoring the fact that it was less than a mile away from the venue four hours before their show… they were hot shit, and Ryan would be excited to find this out), it was kind of overwhelming to be swarmed like that.  Brendon wasn’t good with new people, and he wasn’t good with being in the middle of crowds, and he could feel his anxiety spiking as his hands began to tremble and he tripped through a clumsy, way too loud conversation.  

 

He wanted to run, honestly, but he was surrounded.  He was pretty sure that he was going to actually freak out, hand shaking as he signed a coffee sleeve someone shoved at him, but then the front door clattered open and Zack was pushing through the crowd.

 

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” Zack called above the crowd, moving through it easily because he was big and pretty scary when he was pissed.  Which… well shit.

 

Zack steered him out of the coffee place, and his hand immediately clamped onto Brendon’s upper arm and dragged him along when their feet touched the sidewalk.  Brendon didn’t mind.  He was too shaky for coffee now anyways. 

He was understandably mad, and Brendon felt bad about forgetting like that and making Zack go out and track him down.  He hesitated at the stairs, but Zack just smacked him on the ass and said, “Get your ass on the bus.” Brendon hissed in a breath and trotted up the stairs into the bus.  Under the guise of taking a nap before soundcheck, he disappeared into his bunk and tried not to think about how he was suddenly hard in his pants, or how the anxiety that had been bubbling in his chest had gone flat.

 

He laid there for a while, pushing his finger tips hard into the sore spot on his arm and wondering if he’d have a bruise later.  He pressed harder and kind of hoped that he would.

  
  


… 

 

Jon had a pinching habit.  It wasn’t something any of them really minded much.  The thing about Jon Walker was that he was generally quiet, pretty laid back, and probably the most chill person you’d ever meet.  He was awesome, but if you put him in a room full of loud personalities he tended to get lost.  

 

They were on Fall Out Boy’s bus, and Pete and Patrick were in the middle of one of their Epic Blowouts ™.   Brendon had been a little on edge at first, because they were  _ loud _ , and when it came to Pete and Patrick it was hard to tell if they were playing or actually about to kill each other.  Sometimes he wondered if they could even tell the difference.  But Joe leaned over and patted his knee, said, “This is what they do.” 

 

Maybe this is what happened when you were friends with someone for forever.  It’s like with Spencer and Ryan, who could offhandedly say the meanest things to each other without blinking an eye at it.  

 

Brendon wondered what it was like to have someone like that. 

 

“Because you have no God damned idea what you’re talking about!” Patrick practically screamed.  The two had been at it for a while, and Brendon didn’t know why he was still there besides the fact that it was fascinating, and also the hurricane that was Peterick was situated between Brendon and the door of the bus.  Andy assured him that he’d step in if anything got physical.  That was reassuring. 

 

Between watching Pete and Patrick go at it, and talking idly with Andy about the newest season of Hell’s Kitchen on TV, he totally forgot that Jon was sitting right next to him.  Spencer and Ryan had escaped long ago to go off and do Best Friends things that didn’t involve Brendon (not that he was salty about anything.  He’d kind of gotten over those two and their exclusionary shenanigans back in high school), so he probably just figured Jon left when they did.  

 

He was laughing too loud at something Andy said and hadn’t heard Jon saying his name over, and over, and over.  Or maybe he did, but he didn’t register it, and then-

 

“Yowch! Hey!” 

 

He rubbed at the sore spot on his arm and turned to look at Jon.  “ _ What?” _

 

Jon rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Brendon, pulling him back against his chest, and then just dove into the conversation with Andy now that he could see over Brendon’s head.  Andy had an amused smile playing at his lips, but the two went on like nothing had happened, and Brendon stayed uncomfortably slumped down on the couch against Jon.  He tried pushing himself to sit up, but as soon as he started to squirm, Jon pinched him again and said, “Behave.”

 

Andy laughed. 

 

It was kind of just a thing after that.  If Brendon and Ryan were about to get into it, Brendon accidentally pushing buttons the way he always did, and then getting irritated when Ryan spat back defensively, Jon would reach out and pinch him.  It would be a quick, sharp,  _ ow fuck _ that made him take in a breath, and he would stop, lean back in his seat, and shoot Ryan apologetic little grins until Ryan rolled his eyes and grinned back, and then everything was okay.  

 

If Brendon was spacing during an interview, which happened once in awhile when he was too tired or too stressed, or just too caught up in his whole head, Jon’s arm wrapping around his shoulders delivering an undetectable pinch to his upper arm was just what it took to draw him back to reality.  

 

It wasn’t a special thing, though.  He did it to everyone:  Ryan when he was driving himself insane in some kind of artistic, neurotic insomnia spell because he couldn’t get a word  _ just right _ .  Spencer when he was tired of being on tour and got just a bit too abrasive and started snapping.  

 

Brendon wondered if Jon even knew he did it.  Was it a  _ Thing _ or just a thing he did.  But Brendon noticed one day something that cleared everything up a bit.  

 

Jon was generally relaxed.  Brendon had never seen him have a panic attack the way he himself did sometimes, didn’t see him lock himself up tight for days or weeks like Ryan.  He didn’t see him start to get irritable and mean the way Spencer did when he couldn’t explain what was wrong, and he never got overly serious like Zack did when he was too stressed out.  But one day, just a little while before their performance and the day after a particularly bad one, Brendon found Jon curled up backstage.  

 

The night before hadn’t been their best.  It was just something in the air, and Brendon’s voice cracked once, Spencer had been rushing through at least three songs, but most notably, Jon had entirely blanked out in the middle of a song.  He’d been playing, and then he just… hadn’t.  There’d been a look of horror on his face and it wasn’t until the next song that he got it back together.

 

Ryan had been  _ furious _ because when things like this happened he had to take it out on someone.  Jon had already felt awful about it, but he took Ryan’s ranting and raving with calm modesty the way he took seemingly everything life threw at him.  

 

And then Brendon found him hyperventilating backstage.  

 

Okay, so maybe not hyperventilating, but he was crouched down on an amp backstage, his arms braced on his knees, head ducked, and eyes squeezed shut.  He was freaking out, which was weird, because Jon didn’t freak out.  It was  _ Jon. _  Brendon was about to go over and talk to him, but then he watched Jon as he took one wrist in the opposite hand and pinched the skin there hard between two fingernails.  

 

Brendon froze-- oh-- and figured that Jon had himself under control here.  He idly pressed his fingertips into a fading bruise on his upper arm from an interview a day or two before, turned on heel, and wandered off to find Spencer and Ryan.

 

Later that night, after the show when they were gathered in the dressing room, still sweat soaked and waiting their turn to grab a shower before crowding back on the bus, Brendon taunted Jon into a wrestling match that gave both of them a few new bruises.  Jon had won, pinning Brendon down with his legs pinning both of Brendon’s, pushing all his weight down where his hands were pinning Brendon’s wrists to the floor.  

 

They grinned at each other, and Jon rolled off of Brendon and laid next to him.  When Brendon turned his head to beam at Jon and said, “I let you win,” Jon wrinkled his nose up and pinched the bruise on Brendon’s arm.  They laughed until Spencer seized the opportunity and dog piled both of them.

 

**…**

**2008**

**…**

 

Things between Ryan and Brendon just kind of happened, and had been happening since Brendon could remember.  Once, when Brendon was sixteen and Ryan was seventeen, Brendon had been worrying at four in the morning, caffeine high and delirious, that he wasn’t any good at kissing.  Ryan taught him how that night, sitting on his bedroom floor surrounded by Mountain Dew cans with the Star Wars DVD menu playing on repeat in the background the entire time.  

 

This time was no different, except that they’d been letting things happen between each other for a while now, and it was starting to become a habit.  It felt… it felt good.  It wasn’t just sex, either.  They’d always been friends, except for maybe that first few weeks they knew each other, but now there was something else there that Brendon could feel curling up hot and comfortable in his tummy whenever Ryan was around.  

 

It was like, during the time Brendon was dating Audrey or fucking any of the other people he’d managed to get his hands on, he’d forgotten how it felt.  The hand holding, the secretive little smiles, the sitting up with Ryan until all hours of the night asking hard questions they didn’t want answers to in fragile voices. 

 

And of course the sex.  The sex was nice too.  They didn’t have actual sex-- of the dick in butt variety, to be exact-- but there were handjobs and blowjobs and plenty of guiltless making out.  They didn’t call themselves boyfriends, but Brendon liked to think that some of those pages in Ryan’s notebooks were about him.  

 

It was actually during sex with Ryan that the real awakening happened in Brendon.  They were squeezed into Ryan’s bunk, Brendon on top of Ryan with his fingers curling in Ryan’s hair and his mouth tasting at Ryan’s.  Ryan had his hands slipped up the back of Brendon’s shirt, and they ran over the bare skin gently until Brendon playfully nipped at Ryan’s lip.  When he did that, Ryan retaliated by digging his nails in and dragging them down Brendon’s back. 

 

Brendon’s hips stuttered forward, and…

 

“Did you just come?” Ryan asked, pulling back and raising an eyebrow at Brendon, who wasn’t composed enough to answer yet, the waves of orgasm shifting into confusion, and then utter humiliation when Ryan burst out laughing.  

 

“Fuck you!” Brendon spat defensively, pulling away from Ryan and stumbling out of his bunk into the hall.  

 

“Sure you can last that long?” Ryan asked, and then laughed harder.  

 

The scratches were an angry, deep pink when Brendon checked them out in the mirror that evening.  He could feel them tender and  _ there _ all day, and when he laid back in his bunk and jerked off that night, he was surprised by how they burned and what that was doing to his dick.  

 

With sweat running over the welts and stinging, Brendon got off three times in an hour and a half, which was record breaking, honestly.  Then he wiped his hand off on a shirt that was days passed needing washed anyways.  He rolled onto his stomach and tried not to think about it too hard while he fell asleep.

…

 

Not thinking about it worked for a while, but it wasn’t the end-all to this problem he had.  Of course that hadn’t been the first time he realized he was into pain.  It had been a thing for him for as long as he could remember, but it hadn’t ever been sexual.  It was just a  _ thing _ . 

 

Sometimes he liked to be held down or pinched or scratched or hit, but he’d never really thought about it.  Even after that time with Ryan it didn’t matter too much.  He’d try to get whoever he happened to be hooking up with to scratch him, and then he’d try not to think about it. 

 

Okay, so the truth was he said he was trying not to think about it, but he was actually thinking about it a lot.  It was just quiet thinking about it, all to himself.  At one point he pulled out that stupid list he’d made back when he was a teenager and didn’t even know how sex worked or what he would want, and scratched down a few more things.  He was too embarrassed to write the actual actions, so he just added the basics.  

 

“Pain,” he wrote down, then thought about it and added, “bondage.”  Then he plugged headphones into his laptop and jerked off to those porn videos he watched sometimes.  The ones that he would die of humiliation if his friends ever found out about.  He got off to the sounds of smacking skin and the sub in the video moaning and crying.  

 

He came hard, and almost as soon as it was over he cleared his browser history four times and closed his computer.  He lay there in his bunk, staring at the ceiling and then looking at his stupid list, then he folded the thing up and shoved it under his mattress.

 

“Fuck,” he said to the ceiling, and he tried not to think about what any of this meant.

 

**…**

**2009**

**…**

 

Things were… not as great with the band as they had been.  Everyone could feel it happening, but they weren’t talking about it.  Brendon kind of wished they could talk about it, but he was also too scared to bring it up.  Instead, he bumbled around, trying to stay out of the way and still seeming to be in the wrong place at the wrong time all of the time.  

 

He could just quit the band, he reminded himself for the millionth time, because it was always him and Ryan who fought anymore anyways, and with everyone singing now it wasn’t like they needed him. 

 

“Fucking typical!” Ryan snapped, and stormed out.  Brendon was immediately on his feet and following Ryan across the parking lot back to the bus, but he stopped when a strong hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him back.  

 

It was Spencer, and Brendon could tell just from the way Spencer was carrying himself that this whole uneasiness in the band was affecting him worse than probably anyone.    He and Spencer actually had talked about it, in hushed voices in a hotel room when they couldn’t keep it to themselves anymore, and Spencer agreed that if that band split up, he and Brendon were staying together.  

 

“Brendon just-” he said, then sighed and shook his head, composing himself.  “Stay here,” he said, and then ran off across the parking lot after Ryan.  

 

Brendon nodded to himself and sat down on the curb, waiting.  The sun was hothothot above him, and he wondered if he’d get a sunburn, or more hopefully, a tan.  He squinted out at the bus and wondered when Spencer would be coming back, and that was when he realized.  

 

Sitting there on the sidewalk, sweat rolling down his temples and between his shoulder blades, he realized that he was just following orders again.  He realized that Spencer had told him to stay, and he’d intended to stay there, even though it was hot and Spencer might not be coming back for God knows how long.  He frowned to himself and rubbed his hands over his face, too tired and stressed and having too much on his mind already to be thinking about these things. 

 

He weighed his options heavily, eying the ice cold vending machine inside the truck stop, and even with every reason he had to say ‘fuck it’ and ignore Spencer’s order, it still took him a good amount of time to convince himself to get to his feet and go inside where it was air conditioned.  

 

If he was expecting some kind of consequence for not listening, it never came, and Brendon couldn’t tell if he was disappointed by that or not.  Then he had to pause and think long and hard about why on Earth he would be disappointed, and that’s when he realized that he was basically fucked.

 

… 

 

Freaking out over all of this served as a good distraction from freaking out over his band.  So, in order to ignore an incredibly passive aggressive conversation between Spencer and Ryan going on in the front lounge, Brendon curled up in his bunk with his computer.  He opened google and stared at it for a moment, willing it to give him answers.  

 

He typed in ‘What does it mean if I like to get bossed around?’ and got several advice articles about how to stand up for himself.  He tried typing, ‘I like being told what to do,’ and Google spat back an alarming amount of websites talking about ‘how women love being told what to do,’ and that was just a bit too sexist for Brendon’s tastes, and also totally not what he was looking for.  He back-tabbed the hell out of there.  

 

The cursor blinked at him and Brendon chewed on his lip as he typed ‘Why do I like pain?’  He found an article about pain addiction that scared the hell out of him, and Brendon had to put his computer down for a few moments and pace before he could go back to it.  After a lot of deep breathing and twenty-or-so push-ups to clear his head, Brendon returned to his bunk and the internet. 

 

“Okay,” he said to the blinker cursor.  “Let’s try this again.” 

 

It kind of went downhill from there.  What started with a fear of pain addiction lead him to the kinds of websites his mother had warned him about.  He found something called ‘Love Shack’ which didn’t sound scary at first, until he clicked on the link and was taken to a bright pink page with the heading, “Do you need to be punished?” There were pictures, and videos, and a few things that he would never be able to unsee. 

 

He had to take a break and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes before he could find the guts to keep going.  

 

He stumbled upon a pdf file about ‘Dungeon Etiquette’ and decided he didn’t even want to know.  The last website he looked at was titled simply ‘BDSM,’ which Brendon figured was going to be useless.  Because he’d heard of  _ that _ .  That was black leather and whips and chains, three things that didn’t seem especially seductive to Brendon at all.  That was the porn sites with the black masks and dick torture that he only knew existed on accident.  

 

This website he found simply reassured his belief that this stuff had nothing to do with him.  It talked about Masters (always capitalized, always with male pronouns), and slaves (lowercase and female), and about the ‘true way.’  That men were never the ones who should want to be hurt.  That men were always the ones in charge.  

 

Brendon cleared his browser history half a dozen times but couldn’t clear his head.  It was official.  He was totally fucked up, but at least he wasn’t into leather and dungeons and all that crazy shit.  

 

So basically, he was fucked up, but he wasn’t fucked up enough to fit in with the fucked  up people. 

 

“Awesome,” he said flatly to himself, and he considered going and bugging someone until they hit him, because he was in  _ that _ kind of mindset thanks to his online activities.  But something felt especially dirty about it now.  What had once been innocent fun, just his dynamic with his friends, now felt like something else.  Something that was supposed to have safewords and roles and etiquette and rules, and Brendon was not ready for any of that, so he turned of his computer instead and tried to take a nap.

 

…

 

It wasn’t long after the band broke-up that Brendon started to figure out Spencer might be into pain too.  It wasn’t something he tried to think about much, but it was also something he couldn’t help but notice.  At first he worried that he was just projecting onto Spencer, because he knew he’d been guilty of that in the past.  Back when he’d been making new friends, he’d always struggled with telling the difference between them wanting to hang out with him and himself wanting them to want to hang out with him. 

 

It was a mess.

 

But no, Brendon was pretty sure that all signs pointed to ‘not projecting’ at this point, and then Spencer sealed the deal by going out and buying that fucking stun gun.  

 

There were videos of the whole thing, but that was fine.  Zack played along for a little while, but in the end it was just Brendon and Spencer.  Zapping each other with that fucking stun gun and then laughing for hours.  He didn’t like the shock necessarily, but he liked the last burn and the marks he found on himself in the morning.  He was pretty sure that Spencer liked being the one causing the pain.

 

**…**

**2011**

**…**

 

He didn’t mean to tell Pete, but it was the middle of the night, and he was drunk.  Brendon was awful with secrets on a normal day, but he was even worse at them when he was drunk, his mouth running away with him and basically anything that was on his mind spilling out. 

 

You’d think with the band being split up and with the album coming out in just a few short months he would have other things on his mind to blab about, but he was not that lucky.  The constant stress, the constant moving around, and the constant emotion that went into writing an album as  _ angry _ and as hard for them as Vices and Virtues was had him on edge.  He was strung tight and thrumming, constantly on the verge of shaking.  He couldn’t fucking relax, and he knew this feeling.  Knew what he would have done if he was eighteen and stuck in a crowded tour bus with his best friends.  He would have pestered Ryan or Brent or Spencer until the tackled him and somehow managed to press all of this bad feeling out of him. 

 

But Brendon wasn’t eighteen, and he wasn’t in the bus with any of them.  He was twenty-four and sitting on Pete Wentz’s expensive couch with too many beers buzzing happily through his bloodstream. 

 

If someone had told eighteen year old Brendon that he’d one day be sitting on Pete Wentz’s-- that’s  _ Pete Wentz  _ of  _ Fall Out Boy _ \-- couch talking about kinky sex, Brendon probably would have died.  As it was, Brendon still felt a little bit like he was dying.  Stuttering and mortified that they were talking about this, and much more sober than he’d felt when they’d started this conversation.  Brendon no longer wanted to stay over at Pete’s house through Saturday, but he also knew that if there was anyone in the world that might understand him, it would be Pete.  He just knew it.

 

Or he was totally wrong, and Pete was going to tell him he was totally sick, drop the band from the label, and never talk to Brendon ever again. 

 

Fuck.

 

“So you like to be hurt,” Pete said nonchalantly.  “So what?  Unless….”  Pete shot him a hesitant look and Brendon sighed.  

 

“No, it’s not like.  It’s not bad.  It’s, like, for fun,” he tried to explain.  He didn’t need Pete thinking Brendon was going to start throwing himself off of buildings or anything, because no.  It wasn’t  _ that _ .  It was basically the opposite of that. 

 

“So it’s a sex thing.”  Pete smirked like the devil. 

 

Brendon cringed. “No?  I mean yes, but like.  It doesn’t have to be.” 

 

Pete nodded, looking like he was thinking.  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said eventually.  “Everyone likes different things, yknow?”

 

“But people don’t like to be  _ hurt _ ,” Brendon argued, suddenly wishing for a bit more of a reaction out of Pete.  He couldn’t be taking it seriously with how relaxed he was about the whole thing.  This wasn’t a  _ casual _ thing.  This was a really fucking weird thing, and Brendon kind of needed someone to freak out with him.

 

“Dude, are you okay?  You’re shaking,” Pete said, hand settling on Brendon’s knee, and that was just too much physical contact.  It felt like sticking a fork in a power outlet.  

 

His voice didn’t sound like his own as he laughed and bolted to his feet.  “Fuck this.  I need another fucking beer,” Brendon said, heading to the kitchen.  

 

“Wait,” Pete said, voice suddenly serious and… stern?  Commanding.  Pete didn’t sound commanding too often.  He was seldom serious, and it had Brendon halting mid step.  

 

There was a drawn out silence, Brendon standing in the middle of the room with his fists clenched and his breath coming too fast, Pete standing behind him somewhere that Brendon couldn’t see, seemingly not moving at all.  

 

“You like being told what to do?” Pete asked after a while.  Brendon closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath before making himself nod.  He heard movement behind him but couldn’t force himself to turn around and see what Pete was doing, so he kept his eyes shut and focused on breathing.  

 

“I want to try something with you,” Pete said.  “Do you trust me?” 

 

Brendon wasn’t honestly sure at that moment.  He had no idea what was going on.  He trusted Pete on a normal day, sure, but not all the time.  For example, he knew that if you had a headache and Pete offered you aspirin, you always,  _ always _ checked for a tell-tale V on the pills before taking them.  He also knew that if Pete told you anything about music ever you should trust him, because he knew what he was talking about.  Brendon didn’t know whether or not he was supposed to trust Pete for something like this, but he sounded genuine enough, and Brendon didn’t know what to do with himself now anyways.  He nodded.  

 

Pete came up behind him and his callouses were rough against Brendon’s skin when Pete’s hand slid around the back of his neck.  The touch didn’t feel as bad this time.  He felt settled. 

 

“I’m not going to do anything,” Pete said.  “But if you want to stop, you say red light, and it’s over immediately, okay?”  Brendon wondered what Pete was going to do, and he wondered if ‘red light’ was a safeword and if he was actually ready for what was about to happen, but he found himself nodding instead.

 

He followed Pete’s lead and let himself be tugged to stand in front of the couch.  Pete said, “On your knees,” and Brendon’s hit the carpet underneath him with a dull ‘thud.’  He appreciated the jolt of it, and he stayed compliant and still while Pete took his wrists and crossed them behind his back, maneuvered him gently until he was sitting back on his heels.  

 

“Stay,” Pete said, so Brendon did.  He stayed kneeling on the ground, his head resting against Pete’s thigh while the older man threaded his fingers through Brendon’s hair.  For the first time in fucking  _ months _ Brendon actually felt himself relax. 

 

…

  
  


Pete was honestly all the proof Brendon needed to reassure himself that what he wanted wasn’t a sex thing.  First off, because it was Pete, and just because Ryan had always wanted to jump Pete’s bones didn’t mean Brendon did.  Secondly, because they never made it sexual.  It would be quite a stretch to say that Brendon kneeling next to Pete Wentz’s couch for half an hour was a sex act.  Even the few other things they did... 

 

(Pete had told Brendon after that first night that if there was anything,  _ absolutely anything _ , Brendon needed or wanted to try out, Pete was more than willing to lend a hand.  

 

“It’s not like you can go out to kink clubs without getting recognized,” Pete said, and he had a point.  Spencer and himself definitely weren’t A-list celebrities.  They didn’t get as much attention out there as, say, Pete Wentz would.  But they still got tracked sometimes, and the last thing Brendon wanted was for some paparazzi to catch him leaving a BDSM joint and plaster it all over magazines for his mother to see while she waited in line at the grocery store. 

 

So they tried a few things, just once in a great while when they were both in the same city for more than an evening- when Pete didn’t have Bronx or Patrick or Ashlee hanging around and when Brendon didn’t have Spencer.  Once Pete blindfolded him and tied him by his wrists to a hotel bed once and left him there to “Chill the fuck out, Urie,” while he did some work just a few feet away on his computer.  

 

A different time, when Brendon was stressing the fuck out about an argument he’d had with Jon right after Vices and Virtues had hit the stores, he’d gone to Pete under the mask of just hanging out.  But he was in an awful mood and being an absolute piece of shit, and Pete snapped, “God, you’re being such a brat today.” 

 

Brendon responded, “What are you going to do about it?” taunting and deliberate.  

 

That was the first time they’d done spanking.  Pete said, “How about you bend over and put your hands on the couch,” as he guided Brendon over the arm of his stupidly expensive sofa with a firm hand between his shoulder blades.  They kept it light and fun at first, and it was absolutely hilarious until it just… wasn’t.

 

Afterwards, Pete let Brendon curl up on the couch, and Brendon let Pete run his fingers through his hair until his breathing and heart rate slowed down to normal.  They put Indiana Jones on the TV, and Brendon got them both beers when he finally came back to himself.  

 

“You okay?” Pete asked. 

 

Brendon nodded. “Sore.”

 

“I didn’t mean to overstep-” Brendon cut Pete off by handing him a beer and saying,

 

“I needed that.  Thank you.”)

 

So even the few other things they did that edged closer to the porn Brendon kept carefully hidden on his laptop weren’t sexual in the slightest.  That didn’t help him understand  _ why _ this stuff worked for him, but it did help quell his nerves on the matter.  He was not some crazy sex pervert.  It was just a thing. 

 

And if Pete Wentz was willing to help Brendon with this thing once in awhile, well… the more the merrier.

 

It wasn’t all organized sessions from there on out.  In fact, anything he did with Pete usually happened by chance- an accidental kink discovery.  There were still other moments that stood out in Brendon’s mind, like that time they got stranded in the midwest for a few long hours because the bus broke down, and Brendon, Spencer, and Dallon got into a cut-throat rubber band fight, laughing and yelping any time their skin got bit with the rubber.

 

Another time, Brendon got Spencer to chase him through a parking lot for ten solid minutes, because they’d been playing punch buggie for  _ weeks _ at that point, and it had gotten pretty serious.  Brendon realized that sometimes making someone chase after him was just as much fun as getting hit, and he just stored that information away in the back of his head.  When Spencer eventually caught him, he punched Brendon in the shoulder hard enough to make his fingers tingle.

 

Zack laughed and shook his head at them, saying “Aren’t you guys ever going to grow up?”  

Brendon hopped happily onto his back for a piggie back ride, just like the good old days-- God it’d been years-- and declared happily that no, he had no intentions to.

 

…

 

Like most other important moments in Brendon’s life, asking Spencer to be his boyfriend happened at about three in the morning.  They were jetlagged, in a foreign country, and neither of them could sleep despite how hard they tried.  The other two had wandered off to try and get some shut eye, and Brendon had to wonder if they were having any luck.  He was grateful for being left alone though.  

 

They had Golden Girls playing on the TV, but it was in French, so Brendon wasn’t sure if Spencer was actually interested in the show at all or just zoning out.  He couldn’t remember what language Spencer had taken in high school, and he felt like that was something he was supposed to know. 

 

So he asked, and then he asked something else. 

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” he asked, but he hadn’t intended for it to come out like that.  He’d thought about it an awful lot, and his rough sketch involved a romantic walk, some French baguettes, and the swell of an orchestra right before the big question.  Instead they were in a tiny dust filled room, sharing a full sized bed wrapped in off-white sheets, watching Golden Girls in the dark at three in the morning.  

 

Brendon would have to save his plan for their engagement, then, because he was pretty sure that if Spencer said ‘yes’ that was the only way this could go in the end. 

 

Instead, Spencer said, “What?” and it turned into a fight.  Brendon wasn’t surprised.  Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. 

 

He won Spencer over in the end, when he asked, “Oh come on, Spence! What have we got to lose!?” 

 

Spencer snapped back, “Everything!” in a hushed voice, because he was a considerate kind of guy who didn’t want to wake the other guests up at three a.m. and that was just another thing Brendon loved about him. 

 

Brendon took that comment in stride and responded, “We’ve got everything to lose, and I asked you anyways.  That’s how serious I am about this.”  He wanted to prove that he actually thought this out, and that he actually meant it.  This wasn’t just another Impulsive Brendon Moment ™  (There had been an unfortunate amount of those that had ended badly, and Spencer had been there for almost all of them), and maybe Brendon could actually be a grown up and make serious decisions like this once in awhile.  

 

Spencer didn’t answer right away, and the suspense kind of killed Brendon.  He kept his eyes on Spencer’s face, which was lit up blue in the light of the TV, and Spencer kept his eyes on the Golden Girls and his bottom lip caught under his teeth for a long moment before nodding.

 

“Okay,” he said quietly.  

 

Brendon perked up.  “Okay?”

 

Spencer nodded.  “We can try it.  I mean… We…” But Brendon didn’t give him the chance to finish.  He surged forward and kissed him instead, just another I mpulsive Brendon Moment ™, but Spencer caught them both and kept them from toppling off the bed as he kissed Brendon back, so it all turned out okay.  

**…**

**2013**

**…**

 

So there they were.  More hasty words flying out of his mouth, and Brendon was either going to scare Spencer away and ruin everything or actually get what he wanted.  Either way the cat was out of the bag, and Brendon wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

 

Spencer and Brendon in the front of the bus, both furious and stressed out and ready to throttle each other.  When Brendon stated, “Maybe you should smack me then.  I’ve been asking for it,” his voice wasn’t even shaking, and he was honestly kind of proud of himself. 

 

Spencer didn’t have as clear of an understanding of what was going on, and Brendon could understand that.  Spencer was a gentleman and a total sweetheart, and just because he said sometimes Brendon made him want to smack him, that didn’t mean he’d ever consider it an option.  Good boyfriends didn’t hit their boyfriend, but kinky boyfriends did.

 

And maybe this was a test for them.  He wanted to see if Spencer would be willing to give him this.  It was like laying all his cards down on the table.  He really should have been more nervous, but he wasn’t ashamed of himself anymore.

 

It was a bit of a disappointment that they didn’t get to talk about it for a while, but Brendon knew it wasn’t realistic for him to expect Spencer to take him right there on the kitchen table, bend him over and just give it to him.  No.  For one, Zack would be totally disturbed, and they liked him enough not to do that.  Just when Spencer was opening his mouth to respond, Ian wandered in from the back, the headphones over his ears doing amazing things to the contour of his hair.  He stopped mid step, mouth hanging open, and pulled the headphones down.  

 

“Am I interrupting something?” Ian asked.  

 

“No,” Spencer said simply, and then disappeared into the back of the bus.  Brendon frowned after him, something uncomfortable churning in his gut, but settled down to wait for soundcheck and try to get his mind off of it.  

 

From that point on there was always someone else in the room.  Brendon took all his nervous energy and funneled it into their show, jumping around stage more than he usually did, which was saying something.  By the end of it he was absolutely exhausted, and his ankle was sore from a back flip he hadn’t landed properly.  He managed to persuade Spencer into carrying him back to the dressing room, which he saw as a good sign.  If Spencer was really, truly upset with him, he would have dumped Brendon on the ground, and that wasn’t really the kind of pain Brendon wanted.  

 

It seemed like ages for everyone to get cleaned up and packed to go back to the hotel, and then even longer for them to get checked in and for Zack to hand them all their key cards.  Brendon wasn’t paying enough attention to remember when bus call would be the next morning, but Spencer always insisted on setting the alarms anyways (just because Brendon had set PM instead of AM  _ one _ time. Actually twice, but whatever.  It was an accident), so he wasn’t too worried about it. 

 

They did eventually make it up to their hotel room though, and by the time they did Brendon was a nervous wreck.  The bravery he’d had earlier during their argument had been slowly dissipating through the day, and now Brendon was just ready to laugh the whole thing off, curl up in bed with Spencer, and try to stop being an asshole.

 

“So we should talk about earlier,” Spencer said, shooting that idea down before Brendon even proposed it.  Brendon let out a lofty sigh and threw himself down on the bed.  

 

“Sure.”

 

“Did you really mean what you said?” Spencer asked.  He was never one to just give in and accept what Brendon said at face value, and it was for the best most of the time.  Brendon tended to say a lot of things without really meaning them.  He was still working on his communication skills, but they hadn’t gotten much better since high school.  

 

Brendon shrugged, and Spencer continued without him.  “I talked to Pete.”

 

That caught his attention.  He shot up immediately.  “You  _ what _ ?” 

 

“Not today,” Spencer rushed to say.  “A while ago.  When he first found out we were dating, he told me some stuff.” 

 

Brendon didn’t actually know how to respond to that.  His first implication was to run off and strangle Pete Wentz with his bare hands.  His second idea was to lock himself in the bathroom and hide, because he’d been lying when he said he wasn’t embarrassed by this stuff anymore.  He thought that he had the option to tell Spencer himself, but  _ no _ .  Pete had gone off and done it for him, and now Spencer knew Brendon was a raging weirdo.

 

Brendon swallowed hard and tried to keep himself from going into a full on panic attack.  “What did he say?” he asked.

 

Spencer frowned and went over, crouched in front of where Brendon was sitting and put his hands on either one of Brendon’s thighs.  “Hey… breathe, okay?” he asked.  “We don’t have to talk about it….”

 

Brendon shook his head.  “We should,” he said.  “What did he say?”

 

“He let a few things slip when we first started dating,” Spencer said carefully, squeezing Brendon’s thigh lightly.  Brendon put his hand over Spencer’s.  “I didn’t actually know what he was talking about then, but after what you said this morning, I decided to text him and ask.”

 

Brendon let out a shaky breath and gazed off over Spencer’s head.  “And?”

 

“He told me some of the stuff you guys got up to,” Spencer said.  “But he said you haven’t done it in a while…  I was just… is that still something you want to do?” 

 

Chewing on his lip and letting his eyes flit to the earnest expression on Spencer’s face for just a second.  Brendon focused down at the bed spread under them and said, “Well… Not with Pete.”

 

“With me?” Spencer asked. 

 

Brendon nodded. 

 

When Spencer didn’t respond right away, Brendon forced his eyes down to look at him and found his boyfriend grinning.  “If there’s something you want, you have to ask for it,” he said gently.  “And I mean with  _ words _ , Brendon.  You can’t just try to push me into things, okay?  That’s not fair.”

 

Brendon sighed and carded his hand through his hair to think.  “You’re going to think it’s weird, though,” he said.  “And… I thought it would freak you out, and you’re too important to scare off like that, and-” 

 

“Hey,” Spencer interrupted.  “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can ask for that’s gonna scare me off, okay?  And if it’s too much for me we can sit down and talk about it, but… seriously, Brendon.  You want me to put you over my knee and beat your ass?  You just have to ask for it.” 

 

“Spencerrrrrr.”  He drew out his voice in a whine and flopped back on the bed.  “Oh my  _ God _ .” 

 

“See?  You’re not going to freak me out,” Spencer said.  He got up on the bed and laid down next to Brendon.  “Okay?” 

 

Brendon nodded a bit.  “Okay.”

 

“So is there anything…. tonight?  Pete says this stuff helps if you’re worked up,” Spencer said, glancing over at him.  

 

Brendon rolled over onto his side to face him.  “Do I seem worked up?” he asked, and then they both started laughing.  

 

“You little shit,” Spencer said, reaching over and digging his fingers into Brendon’s sides. Brendon squealed and tried to squirm away, but Spencer wasn’t having any of it, and he’d always been stronger than Brendon anyways.  He wrapped both arms around him and pulled him back tight against his chest.  “So tonight.  Do you want to?” 

 

Brendon took a minute to think it over.  He still felt pretty shook up over talking about all of this, and over the fight he and Spencer had earlier.  On the other hand, there really was no better time to do this than when he felt tense and awful.  He nodded, barely, just enough that he knew Spencer could feel his hair tickling his nose.

 

“Okay,” Spencer said, sitting up and patting Brendon’s hip.  “Ask for what you want.” 

 

Brendon sighed and made himself sit up.  This was the hardest part-- asking for it.  Talking about it.  Pete had never made him talk about it; he just knew what Brendon needed.  Or maybe Brendon was just desperate to the point that he would have taken anything.  He trusted Spencer to give that to him, but he wasn’t the only one playing this game here, and he had to do what Spencer asked him if he wanted to work. So.

 

“What you said earlier,” Brendon said.  “Can we do that?”

 

Spencer hummed and threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of Brendon’s head.  Brendon tilted his head back, following Spencer’s tug.  “Use your words,” he said quietly, tugging a bit more until it hurt and Brendon couldn’t tilt his head back any further.  

 

Brendon’s face flushed bright red.  “I….”  He knew Spencer would be fucking good at this.  “You said… put me over your knee and…”

 

“And?” Spencer prompted. 

 

Brendon swallowed hard, or the best that he could with his head bent so far back.  “Hit me,” he managed to say.  “Please.” 

 

“Get up,” Spencer responded, letting go of Brendon’s hair, and Brendon was on his feet immediately, because Spencer’s voice left no room for argument and Brendon was good at following directions.  

 

Spencer scooted over until he was seated on the edge of the musky hotel bed with his feet firmly on the ground.  “Say it again,” he commanded.  

 

This time Brendon’s voice wasn’t shaking as he looked Spencer in the eyes and said, “Hit me. Please.”   Spencer’s hand encircled Brendon’s wrist and tugged him forward until Brendon was positioned over Spencer’s legs, palms and toes braced on the floor, ass up in the air.  

 

“Is your safeword still red light?” Spencer asked, and for the love of  _ God _ Brendon was going to kill Pete when he got his hands on him.  

 

“Yes,” Brendon said, then Spencer hit him, and he stopped thinking altogether. 

 

…  

 

So it turned out that it  _ could _ be a sex thing sometimes.  Once Spencer managed to convince him that it wasn’t fucking weird, and that he wasn’t doing Brendon any favors, that he actually like doing it too, they kind of opened their doors to anything.

 

Spencer made Brendon sit down and fill out one of those stupid check lists, but most of what they discovered, they did on their own.  Brendon liked being held down, he liked being scratched, he liked being hit, and pinched, and bit, and made to hold still and tied up when he couldn’t.  Spencer liked holding him down and giving orders.  He liked manhandling a lot, always incredibly proud of himself when he could just flip them around or put Brendon into position without too much effort.  Some things stayed innocent, like wrestling matches on the bus and rubber band wars.  Sometimes what they did, they did with sex, and sometimes they did it just by itself.  The thing they liked most of all though was curling up afterwards, Brendon calm and sated in Spencer’s arms, Spencer murmuring to him until he came back to himself.  

 

Ryan Ross’s love life read off like the chapters of a romance novel, and Brendon’s like a series of surprise interventions.  Spencer’s was more like a bucket list, something they kept tucked in between the bedsheets so they could check things off as they went along, and oh they had some big plans.  There was a lot Brendon had to make up for, and Spener was more than willing to indulge him…

  
… so long as Brendon was willing to ask for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the actual porn part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the spanking oneshot I'd been trying for the first time. Fuck yeah. Alright. Time for bed.

He hissed and flinched, and Spencer set his hand flat on the small of Brendon’s back, pet him gently for a moment, and then smacked him again.  Brendon’s whole body jumped forward, and Spencer gave him a minute to breathe.  He was always like this at first, tense and struggling to stay silent, totally on edge,jumping practically off of Spencer’s lap with every swat.  That’s why it was easier to start over the knee like this, or over the back of the couch, where Spencer could keep a hold of him.  Brendon wasn’t great at holding still.  They’d done it once, hands braced on the table top of the bus while everyone was out and knew not to come back for a while.  Brendon had been squirming all over the place, and Spencer accidentally caught him with a riding crop right on the balls.  Brendon had screamed and fallen over, and Spencer had to laugh hysterically until he was calmed down enough to make sure Brendon was okay.

 

“Count,” Spencer reminded.  He had to wait a moment for Brendon to let out a shaky breath.  He rubbed his hand over Brendon’s back.

 

“Two,” he said.  “I’m sorry.”

 

Spencer brought his hand down flat on the curve of Brendon’s ass and made him yelp.

 

“Three! I’m sorry!” 

 

Brendon jerked forward with the next five smacks, and after a groaned out, “Fuck. Eight,” Spencer hauled him back with a hand on each hip.  

 

“You trying to get away?” Spencer asked.  “I’m not sure you’re feeling this.  Maybe we ‘ought to take these jeans down.” 

 

There was another pause, shorter than the first, before Brendon shifted and said, “Yes.  Please.”  He put his hands down flat on the floor and lifted his hips up off Spencer’s lap. 

 

Spencer reached underneath him to unbutton his pants and then tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs so just a strip of pale skin showed between the waist of his jeans and the hem of his red boxer briefs. Spencer couldn’t wait to really get into it and bruise Brendon’s ass to match them.  He smacked him again- “Ah! Nine!”- and then rubbed the already warm flesh through the thin cloth of his underwear. 

 

“What’s your color?” 

 

Brendon cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders a little before responding, “Green.  I’m good.”

 

“How much do you need tonight?” he asked.  It was different every time they played like this.  Sometimes Brendon just needed a warm up, especially if they’d been playing the way they had earlier that evening, with bratting and wrestling and tickling.  Other times they went harder, until Brendon was kicking and crying, when Spencer stopped asking his color, because Brendon was too far gone to tell him to stop, and Spencer knew where his limits were anyways. 

 

Based on the amount of noise Brendon was already making, Spencer was pretty sure he knew the answer. 

 

“Can we go to fifty?” Brendon asked.  That was actually a bigger number than Spencer was expecting.  He pet Brendon’s ass again gently.

 

“How hard?”  He waited until it was obvious Brendon wasn’t going to answer, then brought his hand up and swung it down hard, a solid ‘smack’ reverberating through the room.  

 

Brendon rocked forward and groaned loud.  “Yeah,” he gasped. “Hard.” 

 

They made it, hard and counting through twenty-seven.  Then Spencer decided to mix it up and spanked him eight times in a row fast, sending Brendon squirming in his lap and crying out.  

 

“Y-yellow!  Ow, Spence, yellow,” he hollered and gasped in relief when he stopped, going limp over Spencer’s lap and moaning loud when Spencer grabbed his ass, kneading the bruise in.

 

“What number was that?” Spencer asked.  “Or do I have to start over?”   
  


“No!” he said quickly.  “Thirty-five.  Please.” 

 

Slightly disappointed as he was, because Brendon made the best noises when Spencer made them start over again, Spencer had to grin at the quiet mewling noises Brendon made when he pet him.  He ran his hand from Brendon’s shoulders down over the curve of his ass.  Once, twice, then patted his bottom gently.

 

“Two options,” he said.  “Either you get up and go get me the wooden hairbrush from the bathroom, or we curl up in bed and watch Ant Man.” 

 

“You and fucking Ant Man,” Brendon grumbled.  “I swear to God, you’re like obsessed.”  Spencer smacked him again, causing Brendon to hiss out a breath and arch up a bit.  

 

“You wanna be smart mouthing me right now?” 

 

Brendon shook his head.  Spencer moved his hand off of Brendon’s back and helped him up when he tried to stand, waiting to see what he would do.  Either he would go get the hairbrush, or he wouldn’t.  Based on the hard-on that had been digging into Spencer’s thigh since they got into position, he figured Brendon would opt for the prior, but he could never be sure.  

 

He kind of hoped he did.  

 

Brendon took his time shimmying out of his jeans and kicking them under the bed.  Spencer would have been annoyed, because seriously there was a laundry basket  _ right there _ , but Brendon throwing them on the floor meant Spencer got to watch him bend over to pick them up, so it wasn’t all bad.  

 

Fuck, after two years together and ten years living in each other’s personal space Spencer should have been over it, but he just wasn’t.  He didn’t think he’d ever get over Brendon.

 

That’s why he let him get away with darting in and pecking Spencer on the lips before turning and running to the bathroom.  A website he’d seen online told him he shouldn’t let his sub get away with those things, but Spencer didn’t like those websites much anyways.  Brendon was as much of a leader in their relationship as Spencer was.  Spencer might have been Brendon’s Dom, but Brendon was the  _ frontman _ of their band.  They both worked full-time, and they were for the most part equals.  

 

Unless they were in a certain state of mind. 

 

Their system seemed to work for them.  

 

Brendon shuffled back into the room after a short moment.  He had a sheepish grin on his face as he came to stand by Spencer’s side and held the brush out.  Spencer took it with a smile, much more ease in his own than Brendon’s, and set it down before pulling Brendon down and over his lap again, holding him tight in place with his hand on Brendon’s hip.

 

“Boxers up, but we’re doing this all in one go,” Spencer told him, rubbing Brendon’s ass again and feeling how  _ warm _ it was through the fabric. It probably stung like a bitch, but when Spencer was done with him it’d be  _ burning _ .  He felt Brendon tense up in anticipation, and he waited, counted to ten in his head until Brendon relaxed against him again, and then he started. 

 

Brendon could never keep his resolve during rapid fire attacks like this.  He always tried, but after the fourth smack he was yelping with each one, and just a few after he was kicking his legs desperately and squealing.  They got to fifteen, and Brendon went absolutely limp across Spencer’s knees.  There was a slight tremor running through him with every hesitant breath.  Spencer pressed his hand into the burning flesh to watch Brendon hiss and squirm. 

 

“We’re done,” he whispered.  “You’re good.  All forgiven, B.  You’re done.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said, there was a waiver in his voice that meant he’d just started crying but wasn’t totally over the edge yet.  

 

Spencer hadn’t actually been mad at him at all.  He never was when they scened.  That was one of his rules.  If they were actually fighting, Spencer wouldn’t touch these games with a ten foot pole.  He knew himself, and he knew he had some sadistic tendencies, and he didn’t want to get carried away and do something he’d regret.

 

That considered, if Brendon wanted Spencer to ‘punish’ him for interrupting during an interview that morning or being rude at a restaurant during lunch, Spencer was happy to oblige him.  So long as Spencer got to hit him, and Brendon knew he was forgiven afterwards.

 

It worked for them.

 

Sometimes Brendon liked to fuck afterwards, and sometimes he liked to curl up on top of Spencer and watch TV until he came back to himself.  Tonight was the latter, so Spencer turned on Ant Man and held Brendon tight to him, petting his hair and pressing kisses to the side of his head until he sighed happily and Spencer could feel the tension from earlier flood out of him.  Eventually, he started shifting around and groaning quietly. 

 

“Fuck,” he grumbled, reaching back and rubbing the abused part of his body.  “Fuck. My ass.” 

 

“Thought we weren’t doing that tonight,” Spencer teased him, nudging a bottle of water at him again.  Brendon grabbed it and took a sip.

 

“I hate you,” he said.  

 

Spencer grinned at him and replied, “Yeah, well, you  asked for it.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please comment, I'm lonely.


End file.
